THE DANGERS OF LOVE
Four floors up
in the summer dusk
of Brooklyn,
I followed the smile,
the good smile
that doesn’t tell,
as I unbuttoned her blouse,
she standing still for it
happy, languid as evening,
my hands holding her breasts,
the tip of her tongue
traveling along my neck,
her hand falling
like an echo to mine,
leading me like a beginner
to the bed, the soft
smile and gradually
the complete confidence
of her nakedness,
pausing to turn the record player on,
settling against me
with the softness
and inevitability of summer night
as an old black man
beat out a memory,
warning us away
from the dangers of love.